


Self-Denial is Unhealthy

by crysturbating



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crysturbating/pseuds/crysturbating
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal convinces Will to talk about his dirtiest fantasy, and then proposes an experiment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Denial is Unhealthy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my betas. <3 <3 <3

Sex was difficult for Will — difficult to come by, difficult to think about, difficult to get to the end of without burying himself in analyzing his partners and viewing their coupling like a crime scene. It was difficult, but worth it for those moments of losing himself, of remembering the pleasure of simple sensations like touch.

It was difficult to talk about. There was no pleasure in discussing it, and yet—

"What do you want me to say?" he asked, spreading his hands out in his lap. "Do you want me to tell you about losing my virginity? About the first time I masturbated? They're very boring stories, if that's what you're after. Utterly typical."

"Sex is rarely typical," Hannibal said. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, as though he had a secret to share with Will. "We all have a tendency to perceive others as having it in ways we don't. We think they're having more of it, or better orgasms, or we think we are deviant in our desires."

Will couldn't help the way his lip twitched. He hated his lip, in that moment; it was such an obvious tell.

Hannibal, of course, had caught it. "Do you believe yourself to be deviant, Will?"

"I am several standard deviations away from normal," Will said, "on many spectrums. It would be weird if I wasn't a little deviant, wouldn't it?"

"Everyone is a little deviant, in their own ways."

"Not everyone makes themselves intimately familiar with the minds of killers on a regular basis. Any way you cut it, I'm an outlier."

"I doubt you're as much of an outlier when it comes to your desires as you think you are," Hannibal countered, easily maneuvering the conversation exactly where he wanted it. Will almost admired him for it. "What is it you fantasize about that you fear is so abnormal?"

Will looked away and fought the urge to fidget. He turned his palms down, gripping his knees to keep his fingers from tapping out a nervous beat on the arms of his chair. "Sexually?"

"Sexually."

"Where do I even start?" Will said, trying to laugh. He found he couldn't.

"Tell me about a fantasy you have. One you've never told anyone before."

"That's a tall order." Will focused on Hannibal's ear. He knew Hannibal could probably tell he was avoiding eye contact, but he felt nonetheless compelled to mimic social niceties. "Maybe I've told them all."

"Have you?"

Will released his knees, scrubbing his palms over his face. The urge to run was rising in him like a tide, and Hannibal was the moon. He fought it, but he couldn't make the words he needed come.

Hannibal wasn't patient enough to wait him out. "Do you fantasize about hurting your partners?"

"No!" Will said, too quickly. "God, no. I don't want to hurt them."

He was pretty sure he was supposed to say he didn't want to hurt _anybody_. He couldn't bring himself to lie to Hannibal.

"I want to... to make them filthy. To mark them as mine. I want them to want me to."

"How would you mark them?" Hannibal asked.

There was no point in holding back, Will told himself. He put his hands back on the arms of his chair. "I'd piss on them. That's the fantasy I've never told anyone. I've never had anyone to tell."

"Urolagnia and salirophilia are not as unusual as you may think," Hannibal said. "They may not be common, but you're far from alone in these desires."

"I'm alone enough. Most of the people I've slept with haven't stuck around, and the few that have — I couldn't bring it up to them. I knew they wouldn't be interested."

Hannibal tipped his head, ceding the point. "There are ways to pursue that sort of relationship from the beginning, with people who know your proclivities. You may find more difficult meshing with them emotionally, but you may also find it easier to open up to someone who knows that part of you."

Will shook his head. "That's not what I want. It feels too much like using people. This is just a fantasy; it doesn't need to become reality."

"And if you never have a partner who is receptive to it, how do you think you will feel?"

"I don't need it. If I was with someone like Alana Bloom, I think it would be fine, if I never— without it." Will licked his lips. "I could take not knowing what it was like."

Hannibal pressed his lips together briefly. "You would always be curious though. You might come to resent her for denying you."

"I'd be denying myself."

"You'd be denying yourself for her sake," Hannibal corrected. "What seems like a reasonable sacrifice now could amplify other issues in a relationship later, particularly with lifelong abstinence."

"What do you propose, then, doctor?" Will leaned forward, mirroring Hannibal's position and clasping his hands together. It helped calm him, helped him view the issue in a clinical manner. "Should I reject my partners based on sexuality incompatibility for an act I haven't even tried?"

"I would recommend an experiment." Hannibal leaned a little further forward; the space between him and Will seemed less like the space between a psychiatrist's seat and his patient's, and more like the space between two of Hannibal's dining room chairs. "With someone you trust in a safe environment, you could explore your interest outside the bounds of a traditional romantic relationship. Then you would know if it was something you be satisfied without."

Will's lip curled up in a half-smile. "Are you really trying to give me the 'Safe, Sane, and Consensual' talk?"

"Forgive me, but we haven't discussed this before, and you've given no indication that you have pursued any information about this."

"I didn't really have to pursue it. The information, anyway." Will looked down at his hands. "There aren't very many people I'd say I feel safe with."

Hannibal studied him a moment, and then, quite abruptly, he stood, walking to a cabinet at the side of his office. Will watched him open it, retrieve two bottles of water, and deposit one on his desk before handing the other one to Will. "Do you feel safe with me, Will?"

-

Will gave in to the urge to pinch himself — a small pinch, but hard, on his outer thigh.

It hurt. The stag was nowhere in sight. There was no blood, nothing particularly unsettling in Hannibal's office. He was fairly certain he was neither dreaming nor hallucinating.

The momentary sting also distracted him from the growing discomfort in his abdomen, though it didn't last. He shifted restlessly from foot to foot, then returned to walking the length of the office again.

He had been pacing for about twenty minutes, but only in the last few had he become distracted enough to lose the thread of the conversation, and he and Hannibal had fallen into silence since.

Technically, his appointment had been over for a little more than half an hour. It had been a little less than an hour since he had accepted the bottle of water from Hannibal, a little less than that since they had changed the subject entirely, as though they both weren't entirely aware of the implications of Will drinking a liter of water. Hannibal had smoothly invited him to stay late, and Will had continued pretending that he hadn't made any decisions when he took that first sip, that he was still planning on excusing himself to Hannibal's restroom when he could no longer stand to hold it anymore.

That moment was approaching quickly, and he still had not asked. The silence was oppressive, like Hannibal was daring him to say something, to deny what he wanted.

And he did want it. He wanted to try it, and he wanted to make a mess of Hannibal. Of all people, Hannibal was the only one Will felt a sense of possession about; he knew he had no claim on him, and yet, in a way, Hannibal felt like _his_.

God, he wanted it.

"Isn't it impolite?" he asked as he turned back, pacing towards Hannibal again. "It seems like the sort of thing you'd take offense to."

"It would only be impolite if I hadn't asked for it," Hannibal said. He hadn't moved from his seat since he'd handed Will the second bottle. "I was a surgeon; I'm used to the sort of messes the human body can create."

"You didn't ask, though." Will stopped behind the chair he usually sat in, leaning his hip against it. He wasn't hard, but he was pretty sure that was anxiety and the pressure in his bladder at work. "Not explicitly, at least."

"Would you like me to?"

Will fought down a shiver. He would like it. "I just want to be sure you're not feeling obligated."

"Not at all," Hannibal assured him. "I wouldn't offer anything like this out of obligation."

Will made a noise in the back of his throat, neither accepting nor denying Hannibal's answer. "This just doesn't feel like the sort of thing you would do. Not like this, at least. Not without getting something in return."

"I get the satisfaction of helping you."

Will laughed, dry and humorless. "Doesn't quite seem like enough. This is a little different from talking me out of a fugue state after I imagine killing someone. Or don't imagine."

Hannibal shifted, uncrossing his legs and spreading them, just slightly. "Your reservations are entirely unjustified. There may be a cultural taboo at play, but certainly there are no moral objections if both parties are willing. What would it take to convince you that I'm being entirely honest?"

Will stared at Hannibal's hairline. All he would need to do to know exactly how honest Hannibal was being was look down into his eyes, but he couldn't do it. He pressed his thumbnail into his palm, focusing on the bite of pain instead of his bladder or the decision he would need to make very soon. He'd already made it, really. He just needed to get all of his mind to agree, and that seemed almost impossible.

He heard his name, drawing his attention back to Hannibal. "Look at me."

Will swallowed thickly, feeling a twinge of pressure in his bladder, and met Hannibal's eyes.

In them, he saw want, clear and blatant, and he heard it as Hannibal said, "Please."

A shudder ran from the roots of Will's hair to his toes, and he pushed away from the chair, fumbling with his belt as he walked toward Hannibal. His dick was warm in his palm as he pulled it free, only filling out a little, which was just as well. His breathing was loud to his own ears, almost gasping. He almost reached out with his free hand, but there was nothing there to steady him, the arm of the chair just out of reach, and so instead he hooked his thumb into his fly, his fingers loose around the base of his cock.

He felt a phantom moisture on his cockhead, like he'd already begun to go, but the familiarity of Hannibal's office clashed with his sensory memories of public and private bathrooms alike. He struggled to fight past his body's reflexive clenching, the feeling that this was somehow _wrong_.

It made it more difficult, and at the same time it made it that much more arousing.

Heat bloomed high on Will's cheeks, and he shifted from foot to foot, fighting the urge to cover himself. "Are there rules here? What can't I do?"

"Avoid my face, if you will," Hannibal said. "This time, at least."

Will couldn't even begin to consider the implications of that. Not yet. "You might want to take off your— your jacket, at least."

"No, I don't." Hannibal's eyes were on his face; he hadn't once looked at Will's cock, perhaps to give him some sense of modesty, or to hold on to the last shred of plausible deniability that this was not a massive overstepping of boundaries.

And yet Will couldn't help but picture how he would look if Hannibal looked at all of him, or if some third person stood to the side watching them. He was standing in his therapist's clean, elegant office, ready to piss on Hannibal in his bright, expensive suit like he was at a urinal. It seemed absurd.

Doubt and shame closed on his mind like a shutter. He gripped his fly, ready to pull it closed again, and shut his eyes, taking a half-step back.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

Instantly, broad hands closed around his hips, jerking him forward again. He stumbled, and with another pull Will found himself in Hannibal's lap, his knees bracketing Hannibal's thighs and his cock pressed between them. His hands wound up braced against one arm of the chair and Hannibal's shoulder, and their faces were close, close enough that Will couldn't avoid Hannibal's eyes without turning his head. He was too focused on holding his bladder in check to try.

"Your insistence on self-denial is unhealthy," Hannibal said, keeping his grip on Will's hips. "You have no reason to feel ashamed. You only need to let go."

"I can't," Will choked out. He felt like he was being pulled tight and twisted, ready to snap.

"You can," Hannibal said, "and I want you to. I want to see you lose yourself."

Will's breath caught. His fingers tightened on Hannibal's shoulder.

"Yes, Will." Hannibal took Will's hand from the arm of the chair and put it over his cock. He was hard. "I want you to make a mess of me."

Will wanted to say something, to make a joke about Hannibal's selflessness or question the ethics of what they were doing. He couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he took his hand from Hannibal's and held his cock again. He leaned back, still gripping Hannibal's shoulder.

He wanted to. Hannibal wanted him to. There was no reason not to.

When he found his voice, it was low and throaty. "You want me to piss on you?"

"I do," Hannibal said, warm and affectionate. He shifted, his pants pulling tight over his erection. "Please."

Will took in a deep breath, and as he exhaled he felt his entire being relax. He watched his cock as he began to piss, hitting Hannibal right in the stomach and darkening his waistcoat and shirt. He felt Hannibal's hands grip his hips hard, and was struck by the sound of it. It seemed so loud and obscene, a wet splatter against fabric, so that even if Will closed his eyes, separated himself from his body, there was no denying what he was doing.

He didn't want to deny it, now that it was happening. He rose up slightly on his knees, aiming his stream across Hannibal's stomach, catching his jacket as well. He leaned back a little more and pissed over the tent in Hannibal's slacks, watched the fabric start to cling to him and make his erection all the more obvious.

Hannibal moaned, and Will murmured, "Oh God, fuck," pushing against the rise of arousal inside of him. He wished he had the range standing would have afforded him, wished he could see all of Hannibal, drink in the sight of him better, but at the same time he relished the feel of Hannibal's hands on him, and up close Will could see the way his pupils dilated. It made him feel overheated, made him forget every doubt that had plagued him from the moment he had first considered this.

Now he wanted more. He wanted to reach up and ruffle Hannibal's hair, to come on his face, to bruise him. He wanted to _fuck_ him, and he'd never considered fucking a man before, not seriously. He wanted Hannibal to really be his.

He aimed the last of his stream back up, over the buttons of Hannibal's suit, over his tie, watching his piss saturate Hannibal's clothing until it was dripping down his stomach, too much to soak in. Once his bladder was empty, he reared back slightly, putting one foot on the ground to steady himself as he held his cock, shuddering and taking it all in.

Part of him remembered that Hannibal had proposed this entire scenario as an experiment, supposedly divorced of its overt sexual connotations, but most of Will's mind was consumed by the picture Hannibal made: his arms out to keep his hands on Will's body, his midsection soaked with Will's piss, his cock straining against his drenched pants, all in his own office. It hardly even mattered that he still didn't have a hair out of place when the look he gave Will was so unabashedly hungry.

"Touch yourself," Will demanded, stroking his own cock. Hannibal's hand went to his belt. "No — keep everything on."

Hannibal breathed deep, his eyelids drooping, and cupped his palm over his piss-drenched cock. He kept his eyes unfalteringly on Will as he asked, "Would you say our experiment was successful, then?"

"Oh," Will said, his hand flying over his own erection, "I think so."

"And what do you think?" Hannibal's hips began to rock, short thrusts into his own hand. "Would you be happy without it?"

Will couldn't even begin to contemplate it. It seemed inconceivable that he had convinced himself he could get along without ever trying it, now, but it also seemed inconceivable that he hadn't thought of Hannibal as _his_ before.

It was as undeniable as death: Hannibal belonged to him. The surge of possessiveness that shot through Will seemed as though it might choke him, but instead it spurred him on, and he came with a grunt, his semen painting the back of Hannibal's hand.

Hannibal looked down between them, at his own hand, at Will's come and piss on him, and closed his eyes. With one last sharp inhale, he came into his pants, his hips stuttering under Will and a flush coloring his face.

Will tucked himself away and thought about standing up, about letting Hannibal be alone to clean himself, retreating to Wolf Trap to think about what they had done. He knew he'd wallow in it, let it sour into guilt — it was practically inevitable.

But he could put it off, just a little longer, and so he stayed, half in Hannibal's lap, and tipped his head forward until their foreheads rested against each other. He reached up, cupping Hannibal's jaw in both palms, and wondered if he could ever let Hannibal go.


End file.
